Remembering and Mourning
by XquidditchxbeaterX
Summary: Remus right after Sirius's death.


Disclaimer: Merely borrowing the characters.

AN: I hope everyone likes this, and reviews would be greatly appreciated. I apologize for any mistakes.

Warning: angst, remembered character death.

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Remus walked into the house, a loose floorboard creaking under his weathered boots, the only sound that momentarily broke through the heavy silence that had settled into the house like a tangible presence, as if it knew that another Black heir had passed away, and was mourning the loss. Remus could believe that, Blood Magic had always commanded the Black estates.

Shadows blanketed everything, shrouding rooms in semi-darkness, but Remus didn't need light to know every nook and cranny of the ancient house.

It had become as close to home as it ever could in Sirius's heart. This was where he had been stuck in for the majority of the time after his escape, and wanting to spend as much time with him as possible, Remus had by default, spent a lot of time in the God-forsaken house.

His eyes roved over everything, taking everything in, and remembering moments that tied every single thing to Sirius in some way, as they raced around in his head.

Sirius had made his intent clear here—lingering touches, smouldering eyes holding so much promise, inconspicuous gestures—all meaning one thing: Sirius still wanted him, needed him.

He had tolerated all of it, schooling his features to indifference, but inside, he had been soaking it all in like a dry sponge, thirsty for attention, ready for anything. He just couldn't let Sirius know how much he affected him, not so soon. Not when he was still coming to terms with Sirius's innocence, hating himself for ever having doubted him.

Then their tacit attempts at reconciliation had taken place, in almost every room. Chaste kisses, mere brushes of lips, caresses, light gropes—everything developing slowly, so unlike the whirlwind that had resulted their relationship in Hogwarts.

Memories coalesced and churned until they became one big mass of vacuum, sucking him in, asphyxiating him, until he was struggling for breath. Alone in the enormous house, he didn't bother to dissipate his wracking dry sobs.

Nothing still made sense to him. The sudden, surrealism of it all, still hammered in flashes of disbelief in the storm of his emotions.

He could still see them sitting in the dining room, before things had gone haywire, drinking pints of beer, and talking about anything and nothing, both of them savouring every moment of peace they could snatch at; everything as crystal clear as a Pensieve Memory.

He climbed up the stairs, instinctively avoiding the faulty step, and walked along the hallway Sirius must have used a thousand times. Occasionally pacing about and ranting whenever he was in a particularly foul mood.

Taking a deep breath that did fuck all for his taut, yet trembling body, he opened the door of Sirius's bedroom. Toeing off his boots, he sat on the springy mattress, not caring about the unkempt state of the sheets. He stared at the walls as if they held the answers to life itself. Just staring, yet unable to see anything other than crinkled eyes, and upturned lips, replaying the haunting grin that had plastered Sirius's features even as he knew his time was up.

_God, what kind of a man grins while dying?_ He thought angrily, but then it turned to shame for being mad at his lover, if only for a second.

He wondered if Sirius had been happy to die, welcomed it even. And which reason among the long list of reasons that Sirius could have chosen from had really displaced death from the dreadful department, to the desired one.

_Did he spare even a second's thought to me?_ He snorted at his stray, selfish thought.

He laid down, burying his face into the soft eider down pillow, and breathed in the sharp scent of his lover. Sweat, shampoo, and something he had always labelled as just Sirius.

Memories of times spent in the very bed assaulted him, as if they were released out of floodgates, and he finally allowed himself to break down, drenching the pillow in a matter of seconds, but unconsciously moving his robe sleeve to his face so as to cry on that, unwilling to taint anything that could scream out 'Sirius' so audibly.

He could taste the word 'dead' as it joined Sirius in the same sentence, its bitter taste overwhelming him as the horror finally crept through his bones.

The last Marauder wept, thirsty, empty. Again.


End file.
